


Special

by ready_to_kick_some_ass



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, First Meetings, I really needed a backstory for them, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 11:33:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18141647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ready_to_kick_some_ass/pseuds/ready_to_kick_some_ass
Summary: Five times Floki says yes to Ragnar, and one time he doesn't.





	Special

His mother dies first. She goes in the middle of the night, her last breath fading away unheard. His father is on a raid and Floki is the one who finds her in the morning. He sits on the bed beside her and strokes her cold still face with the tip of his finger. His heart is empty. The mix of emotions is so overwhelming, it can’t concentrate on just one right now.  

His mother.

His mother who had told him stories every day. Stories about the Gods. Her voice lightening the murky darkness of stormy days. 

His mother who told him not to listen to the other people, even to his father. “Be who you are,” she whispered in his ear one day, when he was crying because some children called him a freak and killed the little bird, he was trying to take care of because it had a broken wing and couldn’t fly away anymore. “The Gods love you like you are, Floki. I love you like you are. And that’s enough. That’s all you need.”

His mother.

Later, when reality hits him with full force, he cries hidden behind a fir tree, stifling the noises behind his hand. Shame mingles with grief. He isn’t supposed to cry like this. The Gods wouldn’t like it. Yet he can’t stop. He cries until he has no tears left, only the pain making his stomach cramp. He dries his face with moss. When he walks back to their hut, he wears a mask of indifference.

  
When his father returns, he doesn’t say a word to the news. He just nods indifferently and lays down with a groan, touching the wound on his chest grimacing. It doesn’t look good, Floki thinks. Infected flesh, festering lazily. And it smells like rotten fish. Floki has a premonition and he’s right. Not much later his father stops breathing as well, without having said a single word to his son.

Some other men take care of the ceremony. They furtively look at the lanky sullen boy standing by, and whisper.

His father's body burns and Floki watches the dancing flames, not knowing how to feel. When he thinks of his father, he sees eyes filled with disappointment and hears snarky words. “Are you a girl or a boy, son? Sometimes I’m not sure. How will you ever grow up to be a proper man if you spend your days daydreaming and carving?” One time, when he couldn't fall asleep, Floki heard his drunk father asking his mother harshly, "Why can't you give me another son? One that makes me and everyone in the village proud? You're useless. As useless as the poor excuse of a boy I have to call my son."

Floki watches the flames and his eyes stay dry this time.

  
He doesn’t return to the hut. There’s nothing to return for. Only deafening silence. He goes to the forest. He doesn’t like the village anyway. The people and their curious gazes. Their loud voices. The forest is calm and undemanding. It’s filled with the spirit of the Gods.  

He starts to build a hut. It’s tedious but he succeeds and feels proud. He created something with his own hands. He loves to create. It makes him feel like he has a purpose in life. For the first time in a long while, Floki feels at peace. No one tells him to stop carving or dreaming, no one tells him to pick up an axe or a sword to train fighting. No one calls him names. There’s just him, the forest, the voices of the animals around him and the certain presence of the Gods.

He creates and learns every day.

Then he meets Ragnar Lothbrok. And the Gods laugh.

  
He appears out of nowhere. One day he sits there, on a rock in the middle of the forest, head in hands, his blue eyes staring into the void. He’s chewing on a blade of grass lazily. The soft breeze ruffles his blond hair. He seems to be deep in thought.

Floki stares at the other young man, frozen in place. It’s ages since he last saw another human being. He restlessly scratches the back of his head with the piece of wood he chose for his daily carving and doesn’t quite know what to do.

Time passes. Somewhere a raven calls out.

Floki shifts his weight and a thin branch breaks under his bare foot. He flinches.

The stranger’s head perks up. He looks at Floki and his eyes widen. He spits the blade of grass out and smiles. His eyes sparkle. They are like the ocean on a stormy day. Unruly and restless. “So, the rumours are true,” he says jumping off the rock. He’s tall and sturdy, muscles playing under his skin when he stretches. “There is someone living in the forest. But you’re not a fairy.” He chuckles.

Floki scoffs. He resists the urge to run away when the man steps closer. “Ragnar Lothbrok,” he says, still smiling.

“Floki.”

Ragnar Lothbrok raises his eyebrows. “Just Floki?”

“Just Floki.”

“Like the God,” Ragnar smiles.

Floki hums. He looks down at his dirty feet, moving his toes around in the moist moss.

Ragnar looks down as well and tilts his head to the side. “You have no shoes.”

Floki shrugs. “Don’t need shoes.“

Ragnar grins. He scratches the back of his head. Then, he reaches down and takes off his own shoes. Floki watches with a frown. Ragnar wiggles his toes and laughs softly. “You’re right. Who needs shoes. As long as we have feet that carry us, we’re good.” He looks up at Floki. When he speaks, he almost tumbles over his words and his eyes fill with hungry curiosity. “How do you live? Do you have  a hut? What are you eating? Do you know which plants you can eat and which not? Why are you painting your face like this?” It’s a flood of questions.

Floki blinks. He can hear true interest in Ragnar’s voice, and it confuses him. He isn't interesting. He is just Floki.

But when Ragnar asks, “Can you show me how you live?”, he says “Yes”, almost without a second of hesitance. Because there’s something about Ragnar, that’s strangely intoxicating. Maybe it’s his blue ocean eyes. Maybe his warm smile. Whatever it is, it makes Floki feel lightheaded. He leads the way to his hut. He shows Ragnar mushrooms and traps. When Ragnar discovers the statues Floki made, of Gods and animals, he gasps and looks at Floki with wide open wondering eyes. He’s in awe, Floki realizes and the fluttering feeling in his heart intensifies. “You made this …” Ragnar says quietly, stroking over the statues. “With your own hands. You’re talented, Floki.”

Floki likes how Ragnar says his name. It sounds different out of his mouth. He smiles carefully and shrugs. “It’s nothing special …”

“It’s marvellous!” Ragnar tells him and pats him on the back. “You’re an artist, Floki.” Suddenly he gasps and the expression in his eyes changes. It seems like he has an idea. He leans forward and suddenly they are very close. So close that Floki can sense Ragnar’s warm breath on his skin. He shivers. Ragnar grabs his shoulders and asks, “Have you ever thought about building a boat?”

*

Ragnar is a good hunter. Sometimes he visits Floki with a deer over his broad shoulders. “You need to eat,” he scolds mildly, eyeing Floki up and down and shaking his head. “You look like a storm could break you in two.”

Ragnar never brings someone else into the forest. Floki is grateful for that. Although he doesn’t quite understand why Ragnar is bothering visiting him in the lonely forest, he feels content when the other man is with him. He’s good company.

Ragnar is curious. He wants to learn. Wants to learn about trees and plants. About animals and stars. He listens to Floki in awe, his head in hands and his eyes sparkling with wonder. His questions never end. Floki answers every single one of them. Now he’s Floki the teacher, he thinks incredulous. And when he’s alone he asks the Gods what’s happening.

Sometimes, Ragnar comes into the forest with weapons and shields. First Floki shakes his head, backing off from the shields and axes. But Ragnar says, “You need to learn something too. I’ll teach you about this and you teach me about nature and Gods. You will be grateful one day, trust me.”

So Floki sighs and nods. He takes the sword and shield and learns.

Ragnar is a good teacher. He’s also merciless. Floki struggles to stay on his feet and Ragnar throws him on the ground with a roar. His eyes are wild, and his face is grim. He hovers over Floki, holding a sword to his exposed throat. Floki’s breath hitches. He stares up into Ragnar’s face, into his dark blue eyes, clouded with the shadow of the fight.

“You're fast. That's good. But you have a whole lot to learn,” Ragnar tells him, his voice husky. His eyes switch over Floki’s face like they’re searching for something. And suddenly, he lays his free hand on Floki’s cheek. Warm calloused skin. Floki involuntarily leans into the touch. Ragnar breathes in deeply. “You’re special, Floki,” he says quietly. Then he backs away. He straightens up and rolls his shoulders. “Come on. Attack me.”

Floki sighs. He gets up and raises the sword.

Ragnar grins in obvious anticipation.

Later, when Floki’s whole body hurts and his arms are numb, they’re sitting on a hill, surrounded by wildflowers. Ragnar moves his hand through the grass and stretches out his legs. He sighs. It sounds longing.

Floki throws him a questioning look.

Ragnar narrows his eyes and points towards the calm sparkling ocean in the distance. “Somewhere,” he says, his voice hoarse with trembling excitement. “Somewhere there’s _more_ , Floki. More than this. I know there is. Worlds to explore. Just imagine … We’re moving around in our little world that’s like a cage, always doing the same thing, while there could be so much more. While _we_ could be so much more.” He sighs again and shakes his head in frustration.

Floki doesn’t understand why Ragnar would need more. He thinks that this world is perfect like it is right now. In fact, Floki has never felt better. But when Ragnar asks him, “Are you going to build a boat for me? A boat that’s strong enough to bring me to the other side?”, Floki says, “Yes” without hesitating a second.

And Ragnar smiles at him. His smile is bright. Brighter than the sun.

Floki drowns in it.

*

When it happens for the first time, the forest is their only witness.

Ragnar’s kisses are like the sea. Fierce and rough. He presses Floki back against a tree and consumes him like a wildfire.

Floki isn’t quite sure what they’re doing. But he trusts Ragnar. He would trust him with his life. So, he gives up control and lets himself be manhandled to lay on his back. Moist moss tickles his skin.

Ragnar strokes along his sides with calloused hands and looks down at him hungrily. He starts to pull Floki’s clothes off and Floki lets him, his breath stumbling and his heart beating so wildly in his chest, he can hear the pulse in his ears. It’s like the thunder …

He groans when Ragnar spreads kisses over his chest. He doesn’t seem to worry about the dirt, that covers Floki’s body like a second skin. Ragnar’s hands start to wander over Floki’s torso, finding every single scar. They both have scars. Everyone who survives in this world has scars. Ragnar’s finger trails a certain one lazily. A ragged silver line right above Floki’s hipbone. “Tell me the story,” he says huskily.

Floki remembers immediately. It’s easy to remember because it wasn’t the first time. “My father. He wanted to teach me fighting. When I wasn’t quick enough, he grabbed me and cut into me. He said, this happens when you’re too slow.”

Ragnar’s eyes narrow. He shakes his head. “A father shouldn’t teach his children like that …”

Floki shrugs. He groans when Ragnar kisses him on the mouth again. He closes his eyes and feels, putting his hands on Ragnar’s heaving back.

Eventually Ragnar breaks the kiss and looks at him smiling. “I want you."

Floki sucks in a breath. “Why?” He asks. He doesn’t understand.

“You’re special,” Ragnar says. He says it as if it is a fact.

Special.

Floki has been called many things in his life. Freak. Idiot. Weird. Slow. Girlish. His father has always looked at him with a certain kind of disappointment in his hard eyes. Ragnar looks at him with awe and wild desire.

_Special._

Ragnar tilts his head to the side. His eyes are almost black. Arousal darkened the ocean in his irises. “Are you going to let me have you, Floki?”

“Yes,” Floki says. His voice is trembling a little bit. He closes his eyes and hopes he won’t pass out. Because he wants to witness every second of this. Maybe, yes maybe, this is actually a dream. Maybe the Gods are fooling him for their entertainment.

But when Ragnar touches him, it doesn’t feel like a dream.

When he rolls his hips and produces overwhelming waves of pleasure, it doesn’t feel like a dream.

“I love you,” Ragnar whispers.

It’s not a dream.

  
 *  
  
Slowly, Floki starts to understand that Ragnar has a thing for interesting people.   

Lagertha is interesting. Without a doubt.

She enters Ragnar’s life like a force of nature.

And when Ragnar talks about her with awe and desire in his voice, Floki isn’t jealous.

He has never thought he would be so lucky to receive all of Ragnar’s love alone. No. Ragnar takes what he wants. He spreads his love like the sun. And Floki just happens to be within his reach.

Ragnar talks about Lagertha and then he takes Floki under the starry night sky.

It’s alright.

It’s also alright when Ragnar brings Lagertha to him. Floki likes her. She smiles at Floki and Ragnar smiles at both of them in his certain adoring way.

That night, when Lagertha sits in Ragnar’s lap, he looks at Floki with a daring glimmer in his eyes. “Do you want to join us?” He asks.

Floki inhales shakily. “Yes.”

Ragnar smiles. He opens his arm and Floki sinks into the embrace, his body screaming for Ragnar’s warm touch. Lagertha strokes his face, looking up at him with a knowing smile.

The three of them, that works.

*

Ragnar still wants a boats.

So Floki builds it. He spends hours with every step. He wants it to be perfect. Perfect like Ragnar.

“It’s beautiful,” Ragnar tells him, touching the rips of his boat with careful fingers. “It’s your best work so far, Floki.”

Floki shrugs and smiles timidly. He still has issues to see his work as beautiful. It’s never good enough. He is never good enough …

But Ragnar tells him otherwise.

He would rather believe Ragnar than the voice inside his head.

Ragnar lays on his back in the moss while Floki is working. “Are you going to go with me when the boat is finished?” He asks.

Floki doesn’t need to think about it. The answer is clear as day. Where Ragnar goes, he follows. That's a fact by now. “Yes,” he says firmly.

Ragnar smiles.

"But," Floki adds after a second. "I can't swim."

Ragnar sits up, staring at Floki disbelievingly. "You can't swim."

Floki nods.

"You can't swim," Ragnar repeats. Then he laughs. He laughs until his whole body is shaking and he presses a hand on his stomach. Floki watches him with a nervous smile. "Problem?" He asks.

Ragnar shakes his head. "No. I'll teach you. Someday." He lays back down with a sigh.

Floki imagines Ragnar and him in the water and his cheeks start to burn.

*

Floki startles awake when cold sea water hits his face, the salt burning his dry lips.

He blinks up to the starry night sky. Thunder rolls in the distance. Floki smiles bitterly. Thor … He doesn’t sound happy. He _can’t_ be happy. Because Ragnar … Ragnar is acting strange. He got himself a Christian and is taking him everywhere.

Floki’s first boat carried them over the unruly ocean. They discovered the other world, Ragnar was talking about all the time. First, Floki thought it was a wonder. But now he thought that maybe, it’s a curse.

Athelstan. That’s the Christian’s name. He was a slave with a rope around his neck. But now … now the rope is gone and he’s living with Ragnar, following him like a dog without a leash. Floki scoffs. Ragnar even wants to take the Christian to England with them, because he thinks Athelstan can help them.

Floki doesn’t trust Athelstan. And he doesn’t want to have him here. He wishes he could take the Christian and throw him into the icy water. But Ragnar … Ragnar likes Athelstan. Floki’s stomach cramps. He realizes with a hint of mild amusement that he’s jealous. He has never been jealous of Lagertha. But he’s jealous of a Christian. Well. Since Athelstan arrived, Ragnar hasn’t been visiting Floki that much anymore. He also hasn’t taken him on the mossy forest floor. Well, Floki has Helga now. She tumbled into his life like a comet. And Floki loves her. He really does. She sees him like no one else does. He has Helga. Ragnar has children. It's not the first time he feels like they are drfiting apart. But still … he misses Ragnar. It's like Athelstan stole him …

Right now, the Priest is leaning against the wet wood of the boat, close to Ragnar. Way too close. They are talking with each other in hushed voices.

Floki watches them furtively.

He sees Athelstan smiling at Ragnar.

He sees Ragnar smiling back.

Floki scowls.

_This smile belongs to me …_

His face contorts in rage and disgust.

Ragnar turns to look at him. Floki isn't quick enough to hide the expression on his face. Ragnar's smile fades slowly. He locks eyes with Floki. His glance is piercing. Floki can’t look away. Eventually, Ragnar sighs and moves over to Floki, stepping over sleeping men and women, “What’s wrong Floki? Why aren’t you smiling? Your boats are sailing towards new worlds …”

“Why are you taking the Christian with us? The Gods are going to be angry,” Floki snarls, narrowing his eyes.

Ragnar chuckles and pats the back of Floki's head like he does it sometimes when they’re alone together. “Floki. Athelstan is one of us now. He lives in our world and he has never tried to escape. You know that I want to learn about the other worlds. And Athelstan can help me understand them better.”

“But he prays to a wrong God. And I don’t trust him. He could betray you. Betray us.” _I’m just trying to protect you, Ragnar_ , he thinks desperately. _Why can’t you see that …  
I love you … _

Ragnar tilts his head to one side and eyes him for a moment. Then, he abruptly cups Floki’s face in his hands and leans forward to kiss him. Floki finches back, turning his head away. “No,” he whispers. Ragnar stares at him. His smile falters. Eventually, he shrugs and turns, moving back to Athelstan, who seems to have fallen asleep. Or maybe he’s just pretending. Maybe he saw what happened.

Floki glares at the Christian and hopes he sees that too. _I will never trust you …_

He lays down and looks up at the sky. Heavy clouds are now hiding most of the stars. He wishes he would have stayed in his forest. His heart hurts.

A shocking thought pesters his mind. Maybe it would have been the best if he’d never met Ragnar Lothbrok.

Ragnar doesn’t take him serious. No one does.

He’s just Floki. Floki the fool.

He’s not Athelstan.

He may be special but after all, Ragnar knows him by now. Ragnar is used to him. Is used to his quirks and tempers. But Athelstan … Athelstan is _interesting_. A creature from another world, with his mind full of stories of another God.

In his thoughts he wanders back to a time, where he didn't have to share Ragnar with anyone. Where Ragnar used to listen to him for hours. Where Ragnar told him "I love you" while they were sharing pleasure, giving and taking at the same time.

Floki is glad for the waves that are spilling salty water on his face through the whole night. Because of the waves he can pretend that the wetness on his skin is seawater, not tears.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native speaker and always grateful for being corrected! I'm constantly trying to improve my English, so please don't hesitate to tell me about mistakes. <3
> 
> Visit me on tumblr: [ready-to-kick-some-ass](https://ready-to-kick-some-ass.tumblr.com/) :)


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